Dongzi’s complexion paled; the fear that had barely registered moments before now seized him with a vengeance. Usually fearless, he suddenly looked like a sick cat, utterly stunned, his mouth agape, struggling even to speak.

The manager’s face slowly turned around, the movement eerily lifelike, possessing the rhythm of breath, like a genuine, gasping corpse.

“Do...ngzi!” The manager’s voice stretched out, long and indistinct, far more chilling and terrifying than the sounds made by any other spirit.

Dongzi recoiled in terror, backing up until his heels hit the corner staircase. He felt as if his heels had suddenly dropped into empty space, a wave of icy coldness snaking up his spine toward the crown of his head.

At that instant, the manager’s face entirely filled Dongzi’s field of vision. The face was deathly white, utterly devoid of color, revealing only a pair of eyes and a mouth.

Just as Dongzi’s psychological defenses were about to utterly collapse, he let out a breath, a rush of cold sweat instantly drenching him. The manager he saw was wearing a facial mask, chewing on a lollipop, and fiddling with documents inside the safe. Yet, Dongzi remained wary because of the burnt paper ingots scattered on the floor.

“Dongzi, I know you’re from Fushou Hall; you know how to burn paper offerings. Tingting was always good to us. These are for her; just handle the ritual for me.” The manager removed the lollipop, and his speech finally sounded normal. A hint of a smile seemed to form on his face, perhaps restrained by the mask, making the expression appear more subdued.

Only then did Dongzi open his mouth and say flatly, “Fine, I’ll burn these things for you, but I wanted to ask you something…” He wanted to ask directly whether the manager had ever given Hu Tingting any money, but on second thought, he decided the timing wasn't right and held his tongue.

“Ask whatever you want to ask.”

“Nothing, really. I just wanted to ask if it’s okay for me to leave early today so I can go back and burn the paper offerings diligently for you. After all, Hu Tingting brought us quite a bit of fun when she was around.” Dongzi deliberately steered the conversation away, burying the question he intended to ask deep down.

The manager nodded, then took out a hundred yuan bill from his wallet, handing it to Dongzi along with the paper money ingots. “Here’s some extra money for you. If this isn't enough, please go the extra mile and buy some more. The expense will be on me, considered ours between us.”

Dongzi initially intended to refuse, but unable to argue against the manager, he stuffed the hundred yuan into his back pocket and turned to carry the two large bags of paper offerings downstairs. After he closed the manager’s office door, he thought he heard faint, eerie laughter coming from the manager upstairs, but the sound was so ephemeral that Dongzi didn’t pay it much mind.

Passing by Hu Tingting’s office, he noticed someone inside murmuring.

“Tingting, we’ve always treated each other well. My eyelid just twitched again; bless me, okay? I’ll burn extra paper for you later, just bless me so I can beat those young punks at mahjong tonight.”

Dongzi peeked through the crack in the door and saw it was the driver. This guy, neglecting all his actual work, was here chatting like this—pure nonsense. Praying to a deceased person for luck in gambling? His twitching eyelid meant winning money? What a pipe dream.

“Tingting, I promise you, if I win tonight, I’ll burn a horse for you right away.” As he spoke, the driver clasped his hands together, bowed deeply three times toward Hu Tingting’s photograph, then placed the photo back in its original spot and turned to leave.

Seeing the other man approaching the door, Dongzi put on a show of heading towards the warehouse. Once he passed through the corner exit of the yard, he hailed a taxi and returned to Fushou Hall.

As soon as he arrived, Dongzi headed straight for Zhou Huan’s room. Zhou Huan was busy writing memorial tablets. One read "Hu Tingting's Memorial Tablet," and beside it, "Tomb of the Lonely Ghosts."

“Brother Huan, I’m back early today!”

“Oh, why the early return?” Zhou Huan finished writing the two tablets while speaking, then handed them to Dongzi. “Arrange these according to priority tonight and attempt a spirit summoning to see if it has any effect. If it works, that’s best; if not, we wait seven days. We must send her soul back to the underworld then and give her a chance at reincarnation.”

“Got it. But a lot of strange things happened at the company today; I feel uneasy, but I can’t quite pinpoint why.” Dongzi then recounted the day’s events at the office to Zhou Huan.

Zhou Huan smiled. “What you saw and what you felt might be real, or perhaps events yet to unfold. But Hu Tingting communicating with you in a dream is because you had a connection with her. After all, you slept on her sofa—if she doesn’t contact you, who will? That alone is a good sign. If we can’t summon her soul tonight, we surely can next time.”

“Oh, alright. Should we burn that paper now, or wait until tonight with the others?”

“Burn it tonight. Oh, didn’t you say your manager gave you another hundred yuan? Go to our storeroom and assemble offerings matching the value of one hundred yuan for him. Make sure it’s generous, not stingy. Keep the cash yourself!” After speaking, Zhou Huan turned back and resumed reading his book.

Dongzi ambled downstairs, arranged the burnt offerings, set up the two memorial tablets Zhou Huan had given him, and then headed to the kitchen to prepare a meal. Seeing the kitchen bare and realizing his other martial brothers were out working, he decided he’d better go to the market for vegetables. He reached into his pocket; the hundred yuan from earlier was enough. Just as he was about to leave, he suddenly remembered Zhou Huan’s instructions.

Consequently, Dongzi went back to the storeroom and dug out numerous paper ingots, along with some blessing talismans. In total, the items far exceeded the value of a hundred yuan. He arranged everything neatly and headed out alone.

As he stepped out, he bumped into Hong Kun, who was just returning. He approached him, hoping for a ride to the market: “Hong Kun, give me a lift to the market?”

“You’re off work early today, huh?” Hong Kun glanced at Dongzi, his eyes darting around. “Hmm, I can take you to the market, but I want roast duck tonight. You need to hook me up, right?”

“Sure! Whatever Brother Kun wants to eat, Dongzi will surely provide, as long as you drive me and help me carry things. Anything I can afford is yours!”

“I never said anything about carrying things. You can’t pin that on me! I’ll drive you, but it’s one roast duck, or I’m powering down and leaving right now!”

“Fine! I’ll carry everything myself, you just drive!” Outmatched by Hong Kun, Dongzi agreed and got into Hong Kun’s car to go to the market.

In truth, Hong Kun’s demand about carrying things was just a joke. He wouldn’t let Dongzi carry everything himself. Every time they bought provisions, they purchased enough for a whole week. With so many people at Fushou Hall, a week’s worth of vegetables alone would take up half a truckload for Hong Kun to haul.

So, the two sauntered into the market. They first settled on two bottles of strong liquor, then went inside to begin shopping. Hong Kun took Dongzi’s hand and led him straight to the roast duck stall.

“We agreed, duck first, just in case you run short on money later and can’t afford it!” Hong Kun was quite sly.

Dongzi, the logistics manager, was cornered by Hong Kun this time. Reluctantly, Dongzi agreed, and they purchased one duck, priced at just over twenty yuan. This was authentic Beijing Roast Duck, and twenty-some yuan wasn't expensive. Dongzi patted his pocket, pulled out the hundred yuan bill he had tucked away, and handed it to the duck vendor.

As the vendor took the money, the knife used for slicing the duck slammed onto the cutting board, and he burst out angrily, “Dongzi, I respect you as Master Zhou’s brother, but you can’t try to fool me with this money! Are you joking or…?”

Dongzi, unsure what was happening, asked in shock, “Brother Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Look for yourself! Bank of Heaven and Earth, face value ten billion!” The duck vendor was furious, his meaty face shaking with rage.

Dongzi rubbed his eyes and looked closely at the money lying on the counter. He staggered backward in shock. Instinctively, he patted his back pocket and froze!